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Hawkesbury Love Stories is a heart warming section of the Hawkesbury Gazette dedicated to celebrating the everyday moments that make life in our region truly special. From the gentle kiss of sunlight on misty paddocks at dawn, to the wag of a tail or chirp of a loyal companion, to the purr of a finely tuned engine that speaks to a mechanic’s pride — these are the stories that stir our hearts and connect us. Whether it’s the joy of spotting a wedge-tailed eagle in flight, the comfort of an old friend’s laugh, or the quiet satisfaction of a job well done, we invite our readers to share the people, places, pets, and passions they love most. Because in the Hawkesbury, love comes in many forms — and stories deserves to be told.
The Silly Sausage Effect: How Lionel Buckett fell in love (against his better judgment)
Lionel Buckett has always been a man of the land. Raised among rolling hills, working dogs, and the quiet hum of the Hawkesbury bush, he’s the kind of bloke who knows how to fell a tree and split firewood before most people are out of bed. His dogs have always been tough—Kelpies, Blue Heelers, the kind with a job to do and paws built for dust and cattle.
So, when his godson, Wade Maris, asked if Lionel could mind his two dachshunds Cally and Frankie while he was away, Lionel hesitated.
"Toy dogs?" he scoffed. "What would I do with a pair of useless sausage dogs?"
But blood is thicker than pride, and so, begrudgingly, he agreed. They arrived like little logs with legs—comical, suspicious of country smells, and whimpering by nightfall. That first night, their cries melted even Lionel's stubborn heart, and he let them sleep on the edge of his bed.
The second night, they were tucked under the blankets.
By the end of the week, Lionel was frying up breakfast for them and rushing home in the evenings to see their wagging tails at the gate. He found himself talking to them, sharing scraps of toast, and even rearranging his day to avoid leaving them alone too long.
Wade, curious after hearing rumours of Lionel’s soft turn, came to check in.
“You alright?” he asked, grinning. “You sound like you’ve got sausage dog fever.”
Lionel looked up from where he was carefully spooning chop bones and potato into two porcelain bowls. “You ever noticed how their ears flap when they run?” he asked. “Like two little idiots in a wind tunnel.”
Wade laughed. “Mate, take a walk-through Windsor or Richmond any morning — the whole Hawkesbury’s gone mad for sausages. It’s a thing.”
And it is. At markets, on footpaths, and in parks, you’ll see them: proud, prancing dachshunds and the hopelessly smitten humans who follow behind them.
Lionel never did admit he’d changed his mind. But these days, if you drive past his place just before sunset, you might spot two little sausages trotting behind a tall, rangy man, talking softly to them like they’re the smartest dogs that ever lived. Because maybe — just maybe — they are.
